


Counting Your Face Among the Living

by blxckcoffee



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, ghost!gerard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blxckcoffee/pseuds/blxckcoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dead, lonely, frightful; Gerard was almost used to it. Until Frank, the only person who has ever been able to see him, finds his way to Gerard's beat-less heart and calls it home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Your Face Among the Living

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this totally on a whim. I was going through some of my Frerards (90% of which are unfinished *looks away guiltily*) and this little one was probably actually the very first fanfiction I ever wrote - wow. I used to think it was awful but, rereading it, I found that I didn't dislike it quite as much (in fact I kind of love it, just a little). I think I'm gonna start writing Frerard again. I've got a high school AU with the first chapter done, an interviewer!Frank and artist!Gerard, a sequel to The Beat and the Lust it Commands and a couple PWP's. I don't know, I'll see how it goes. Anyways, enjoy!

 

The first time Frank saw the ghost, he was seven years old. "I don't wanna move here, Ma," he had whined and stomped all over the freshly polished hardwood floor. His mother calmly told him to stop being rude and kept walking around the house, inspecting it thoroughly. Frank huffed, not liking the feeling of being ignored. He scuffed his feet on the floor and stood in the entry way—refusing to move.

That's when he saw a movement at the top of the stairs. At first it was a mere shift in the shadows, then a face was poking from around the corner; like it was hiding. Frank stared for the longest time, not trusting his own vision. It's not the first time he'd seen something that's, supposedly, not there. When the man—pale and wide-eyed, with bone-white hair—didn't disappear, only stared straight back at him, a gasp escaped his tiny body. Maybe this one was real. Frank stumbled back a few steps, "Ma!" He shouted. "Ma, there's someone else in here!"

His mother's shoes clacked against the floor as she made her way towards him, apologizing to the realtor women for her son's skittishness. "Frankie, what are you yelling about?" She walked over to her son, taking his hand.

"Ma, I saw a man at the top of the stairs, he was staring at me! I think he's afraid to come downstairs," Frank pointed up the stairs, insistently tugging at his mothers hand. 

"Frankie, there's no one at the top of the stairs," his mother frowned and stroked his black hair, trying for soothing.

"Ma, I saw him. He's there!" Frank tugged on his mothers hand until she reluctantly followed up the grand staircase. They ventured through the top floor, finding nothing but dust and empty rooms. No windows were opened, nothing was out of place—according to the realtor. Franks mothers eyebrows pinched together the longer her son insisted on seeing the man on the staircase. "Ma, he was there—he's _here_. He's just hiding, Ma, I think he's scared of us." Frank looked in a closet for the man.

"Frankie," his mother murmured.

"Ma, I swear this one was real!"

"Frankie." She repeated with a more harsh tone.

"Ma, wait. Hello? If your in here you can come out now! We won't hurt you!"

" _Frank_." Linda snapped down at Frank, who startled at the demand in her voice. "That's enough, there's no one here," this was not the first time she had said that to Frank, ever since he was a baby, he would point at things when nothing was there and when he could talk she would catch him babbling at people that weren't there. _It's fine_ the doctor said, _some kids have active imaginations and make up imaginary friends to fill the time when they feel lonely._ Frank wasn't lonely, she insisted, she was always there for him. The doctor nodded in understanding and said that it would go away in due time. Linda is still waiting it out.

Gerard could hear the woman snap at the little boy from his hiding place in the attic. No one had ever seen him like that before.

No one.

...

"Frankie, I'm going out," Linda called up the stairs to the attic.

Frank scribbled down another chord into his battered notebook and set his guitar down. "Bye, Ma!" He yelled back, flopping onto his bed. The front door closed and Frank looked out his window long enough to see his mother run through the rain and into her car. He could feel the cold coming from the glass and shivered. The sky was so grey and the downpour, that had began early that afternoon, seemed endless. Frank didn't mind so much as most people; he had this big circular window in his attic bedroom and he could see the rooftops of the neighbourhood and the crowns of trees and the rain pattered delicately against the glass. How could people detest something so peaceful? Frank flitted down the stairs to grab a glass of water. He was poising his filled glass toward his mouth when he felt a cold breeze sneak through his Black Flag crew neck.

Gerard watched Frank turn to him with the glass held steadily in his hand. Gerard didn't move, didn't _breathe_ _(_ not that he needed to anymore). One corner of Franks mouth quirked up when he saw Gerard there; and that scared Gerard more than it would have if he just had screamed and ran off. "Eight years later," Frank said, like he's accusing Gerard of something.

"Jesus, you really _can_ see me," Gerard breathed out loud, not used to having to think in his head. No one could even hear him usually, so he never had to put his brain-to-mouth filter to use—not for a long time anyways.

Frank took a casual drink of water. "Yup," he nods, popping the P. "I fucking told them I wasn't crazy," Frank laughed out loud.

Gerard just stared; he hasn't had a human conversation in like... _forever._ His concept of time was very fleeting and skewed; sometimes he knew what month it was, other times he didn't even know what time it was—even though there were clocks around the house. Gerard didn't even know he could make himself unseen until Frank moved in. He thought no one could see him—no matter what.

"That must suck," Frank said suddenly.

"Fuck, I said that out loud, didn't I?" Gerard sighed.

Frank nodded and laughed a little, not in a mocking way. He looked at Gerard in wonder and did that very often all the time they knew each other.

...

"Frankie, I'm a ghost," Gerard reminded Frank gently one night when they were in the middle of watching _Jaws_. Franks mother had just left, on the verge of tears, having enough of Frank vehemently insisting Gerard was real. ( _"Gerard's_ real _Ma! He's sitting right here beside me, tell her Gerard, tell her you're real!"_ )

"I love this movie," Frank sighed happily, completely ignoring what Gerard just said.

"My brother used to love this movie too. It was his favourite," Gerard pointed out.

"Mikey?" Frank asked.

"Yeah, Mikey..." Gerard replied, turning back to the movie. Frank laid down and placed his head in Gerard's lap, his eyes itching for sleep but he knew Gerard would be lonely if he went to bed right away.

It was when the credits started to roll that Frank spoke up again, only above a whisper, "you're real Gerard. I can feel you, I'm _lying_ on you, Gerard. I can't do that if you don't exist."

Gerard only sighed, not wanting Frank to have another episode; one of the ones that scared Gerard—the ones when Frank would cry and scream and throw things. He loved Frank, he really did. After spending the past two years talking to and learning about Frank, it was inevitable that Gerard fall in love with him. He'd seen Frank's eyes—those eyes that are so intricate, so many different shades of brown and green—light up with uncontrollable happiness, mist over with tears, tense in anger. Gerard had seen his mouth bend around poetry, turning them into songs, and his fingers move across the frets of his guitar. Frank was so exceptional and lived with such expression. His emotions didn't have limits and he just _felt—_ God, Gerard wished he could feel as deeply as Frank did, it was so beautiful.

When Gerard looked down at Frank again, he was sound asleep.

...

The masked man, pulled the revolver on Gerard. He could see into the abyss of the barrel and the gloved hands shook violently around the matte finish of the handle. Gerard flinched and froze in place, wanting to tell the man that he could take whatever he wanted and Gerard wouldn't stop him. As soon as Gerard opened his mouth, the man's shaking hand tensed on the gun, completely unexpected—Gerard swears that even the man's dark, dark eyes held shock in them—and the trigger was pulled.

There was a lot if blood. Fuck, Gerard had never seen so much blood in his life. This was his life, it was pouring out of him in a thick red liquid—almost black.

This was Gerard's life, and it was over.

...

Gerard came to in a sharp intake of breath, finding himself in Franks attic room. He sighed in relief and scrubbed his face with his hands.

Every year, like fucking clockwork; same month, same day, same time—right down to the second. Reliving his death, it's the only time when it feels like Gerard is dreaming. Gerard looks at Frank's alarm clock and it tells him that Franks late from coming home for school.

Gerard's focused his entire being on Frank and being able to be with him. So focused that he never noticed much else, that's when he loses himself in time. In that moment, it was so deathly quiet in the house that it scared Gerard. It hadn't been that way since he died and his family moved out; leaving him alone in death to wander, anchored to these old foundations and rotting memories. Gerard had nearly grown accustomed to being alone until that one day when that small boy with those big hazel eyes saw him.  
Now that Gerard looked around, he realized that something's not right. Frank's clothes were strewn across the floor and not in a way that implied Frank hadn't picked them up yet, but in a way that looked like someone was looking for something. The fear in Gerard's throat gripped his entire essence. He saw Frank's little notebook: the one that Gerard wasn't allowed to touch ( _under no circumstances_ ), tossed carelessly on the floor. Gerard thought about looking at whatever page is open, but he _promised,_ he promised Frankie that he wouldn't read it. Gerard went down the attic stairs slowly. There was no sound in the house, not even the whistle of wind through the window panes. There's nothing in the rest of the house out of place, missing or covered in blood.

Gerard stood in the living room, his confusion daunting. That's when the front door opened and Frank's mother walked in, her shoulder hunched in defeat and shaking with tears that are evident on her face. The fear snaked back into Gerard's being once again as Linda walked into the kitchen and finds a bottle of wine and a glass. Gerard watched Linda drown herself in more tears and alcohol. Until her shuddering sobs turned into deep shaky inhales and sniffles. When she fell asleep on the couch, Gerard went to the attic; standing at the window and waiting for Frank's familiar little body to come shuffling up to the front door with his flushed cheeks being chafed by the upturned collar of his jacket in the cold and breaths coming out in smoke. Gerard zoned out of the world, leaving his focus on the missing presence of the seventeen year old boy he has come to love with all of his ghostly being.

...

As unaware of time was Gerard was, he _kn_ _ew_ its been a long time since Frank had been home. He's still in Frank's room, lying on his bed and not leaving an imprint, wishing he could sleep—if only just to kill time. His mind wanders to Mikey, wondering how old he must be now. Is he in college? Or is still playing bass, wanting to start a band—maybe he _has_ started a band. Among other things, Gerard hated himself for not being there for Mikey, he knew it wasn't his fault, but now that he was dead, he couldn't help but think of how he could've been a better brother to him. He could've been so much better...

A stifled sob was heard from the kitchen and Gerard immediately went down the stairs, as he always did, at the slightest noise of distress to be heard from the floors below. He found Linda bracing herself on the counter, one hand covering her mouth as she cried. An unfolded piece of paper was lying on the counter.

The ripped open envelope was addressed to Gerard.

Gerard read the letter over Linda's shoulder; it was brief and the messy, inky scrawl was an indication that Frank was in a rush, or his thoughts were moving to fast for his hand.

_Dear Gerard,_ __  
_I had a dream, the same dream I always have, that you are at my side when I wake up. When I actually wake up, I realize you aren't here anymore and it hurts. They say I'm crazy, that I can't differentiate illusion from reality. I have pills I have to take but they never tell me what they're supposed to do. I don't know why you couldn't come with me, but if you're reading this I just wanna say that I miss you. I don't think you know how horrible this place is, but I can't give up. I’m sorry I couldn't say goodbye, Ma didn't even tell me where I was going before we arrived at the institute. When I get out, I hope you're still there. I don't know what I'd do without you, Gee._ __  
_Wait for me._ _  
_ _xo Frank_

Linda's sobs greet Gerard when he's finished reading it. He felt an inexplicable tightness in his chest and stood motionless as Linda crumpled up the letter and tossed it in the garbage before going back to the liquor cabinet.

Gerard found his way back to Frank's room, the place where his missing presence was most strong and comforting. He looked out the window, thinking about all the time they spent together in this room as he watched the rain descend in sheets against asphalt and pavement. Sure, he missed being able to sit on the roof with a cigarette and his sketch pad, and he missed breathing in crisp air at night as he walked down the street, but this is where he belongs now. Gerard leaned his forehead against the glass of the window, his breath not leaving a mark, closed his eyes and only listened. His thoughts were silent and the sound of the rain was a pleasant sort of thrum.

"Yes, Frankie, I will wait."

 

**end.**

 


End file.
